


Amalgamation

by Macx



Series: Imperfection Deviation [71]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-18
Updated: 2010-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three new mechs arrive on Earth. Nothing new there, except that one's not interested in being here and one is something very old and very rare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amalgamation

Note: the general shape and looks of Seaspray are based on the ROTF drawings of the Nuclear Sub/Carrier Attack by Ben Procter. It was never realized. Seaspray is of course a lot smaller! The pic can be found here:

www.transformers2.net/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/ben_procter_nuclear_sub.jpg

 

And yes, Seaspray is male in the cartoons. I know. :P I took artistic liberties with the characters.

 

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They had come in hot and heavy, the ship barely holding together, but it spoke of the skill of the pilot that they didn’t just crash and burn somewhere on the planet. Actually the pot-holed wreck had touched down almost gracefully, considering the shape it had been in. The area of Norway known as Finnmarken now featured a long groove in the middle of nowhere, had lost a few trees, had a few psychotic reindeer, but all things considered, it had been a good landing.

Three mechs had walked away from it.

The Ark’s sensors had picked up the ship when it had entered the solar system and while communication had been a hit and miss – because the comm unit had been one of over two dozen malfunctions in the cockpit alone – Blaster had managed to establish a working link.

Will Lennox sank deeper into the seat of the truck cab he sat in, though it wasn’t because of the cold outside. He was rather immune to weather. The discomfort of the cuttingly cold wind was barely perceived. He was wearing gloves, a hat, had a scarf wrapped around his neck, but mainly to hide as much skin as possible from prying eyes.

Not that there were many.

This part of Norway, in the middle of the Arctic winter, was deserted. Aside from the scarce wildlife and maybe some crazy soul who thought ice hiking was fun, he was the only one around. At least the only one remotely human. With him were a massive black truck and a sleek sports car that no one would have thought could cross this snow-covered land at all.

Ironhide had reconfigured himself to adapt to the adverse landscape. Inches of ice underneath feet of snow made driving for a normal car treacherous. He had to plough through snow drifts and the roads had almost disappeared under the latest snow fall. Rodimus Prime usually stayed behind him. He had improved his tires and with them their traction abilities, and he could change his alt mode to fit the environment if things got worse.

Optimus Prime had left with the pilot of the crashed ship while Rodimus, Ironhide and Lennox had decided to look for those two who had immediately slipped off and disappeared. Seeking shelter; looking for a place to hide. Their trail was still visible, but since it would snow again tonight the fresh showfall would hide their tracks.

They had headed toward the coastal area and would reach it before morning. The cover of night – and the fact that right now sunlight was at a maximum of only an hour a day – would help them hide. At least they had acknowledged the older Prime’s call and were willing to talk to Rodimus and the others.

“Know them?” Will asked into the silence, eyes on the darkness outside.

Ironhide grunted. Snow flew up left and right of the Topkick. “No.”

Will grabbed for a hold when Ironhide bounced over something hard. Intel was scarce to non-existent and the fact that both mechs, clearly Autobots, had immediately made for the coast hadn’t really put them in a good light. Then again, according to the little they knew, neither was a warrior.

The ship that had crashed – and was currently under guard by Arcee and Sideswipe – would be dismantled soon since it was in no condition to ever fly again. Will doubted even the Constructicons would be able to make something workable out of it. Its parts would end up as spares and raw material. The ship’s pilot had been a mech called Wheeljack. Ironhide’s reaction had been one of horror and soft muttering about signs and portents. He had warned Optimus to bring in Stark or even let the human Prime meet the new-arrival. Somehow, while Optimus had looked amused, he had also silently agreed. Lennox had yet to understand why.

Well, the drive was long enough.

And he was good at badgering his partner with questions.

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He had been a scientist all his life. He had been at home in labs and research facilities all over the planet. He had never handled a weapon in his life, nor had any contact with warriors, soldiers or the leaders of Cybertron.

That had changed with the war.

Beachcomber had been dragged into something that he had never wanted. He had kept out of the political discussions, had evaded politics most of his existence, but they had caught up to him in the worst way. His colleagues had started to take sides, talk about the civil unrest that had first befallen their planet. Beachcomber had listened, but he had tried not to become a part.

Then the attacks had started. Unrest had escalated into fighting. Mechs were injured and even killed. The war had broken out.

And with it his life had forever changed.

Beachcomber, unwilling to become either Decepticon or Autobot, had declared himself a Neutral and almost literally painted a bull’s eye on his back. The Autobots accepted Neutrals, but the Decepticons saw everyone who didn’t join them as the enemy. Neutrals were taken off-line if they didn’t join them.

So he ran.

He ended up a fugitive, without the sigil that identified him as either one or the other, and while the Autobots offered refuge, joining other survivors of raids would most likely brand him an Autobot as well. When things got really ugly and Megatron’s troops burned to the ground what they couldn’t keep and defend, Beachcomber went underground – in every sense.

The scientist had long since had an interest in the underground structure of Cybertron. It had been a hobby as a young mech and he had never really stopped reading up on whatever he could find. The underground was largely unexplored and a mystical area. The ancient Cybertronians had kept records of the underground levels, but soon the newer generations had lost interest. It was a maze and it was dangerous, with maps that hadn’t been updated in millennia. Noone had any idea what was down there, and exploration teams had already lost people in their quest to find out more about this unknown world.

Beachcomber hadn’t been able to grab much. He had downloaded what he had stored on his personal computer and erased everything, then he had disappeared.

The world below had been eerie and scary, terrifying and incredible, wonderful and fantastic. It was a place of legend, of unknown levels and rooms and what appeared like whole cities that were now nothing but ghost towns. He had found relics of ancient machinery he didn’t understand and devices he could make no sense of. The deeper he went the more otherworldly Cybertron had become.

Until he had met the first living thing in what appeared like ages.

He had met Seaspray.

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Seaspray had never known anything but the world underneath the thick metal surface of Cybertron. All her life she had been underground, and she had had a long life already. A very long life. She had been born as what others called a troubleshooter today, but that had been at the beginning of time, it seemed. She had seen generations come and go, and she had remained down here, taking care of a planet that was growing and changing above, but staying the same below. Her job was to monitor the vast network of fluid aqueducts that nourished the planet. The network was unknown to the mechs above and aside from four others like her, called sentries, she had never met another soul.

The network functioned independently from the rest of the planet. It was dependent on the Allspark like everything else, but its existence was legend. The ancient Cybertronians had taken care of securing the network, keeping it running. They had installed the sentries. There must have been hundreds once, Seaspray had once mused. Maybe thousands. Only five had remained in her vast sector at the beginning of the war and those five had disappeared.

When she had been brought online, a sector had been small and shared by two sentries who took turns in caring for the installations. Then the sentries began to dwindle. Her sector grew with each passing millennium. One day she still exchanged information with Cobalt, the next time she was gone. Armorhide had been the last Seaspray had ever talked to, and he had vanished without a trace.

Seaspray hadn’t connected to anyone in the millennia after that. She did her job, she kept the network operational, and she enjoyed the freedom she possessed.

The sentry had never taken any kind of alternate form. She swam within the huge aqueducts, brushing over the walls now and then, scanners always on and aware of every change around her. She didn’t know who or what Decepticons or Autobots were. She listened to the distant warble and shriek of frequencies that she picked up, but she never surfaced.

The last Prime she had met optic to optic had perished long ago. She had never met any of his successors.

Who she met after millennia of a secluded existence was a mech by the name of Beachcomber. She had been aware of his presence within the aqueduct system for a while and she had curiously tracked his progress, but there had been no intention to find him – until he found her. With wide optics, looking a bit ragged and dirty, he was staring at her through a transparent duct wall. Seaspray floated within the reddish liquid that filled the network, gazing back.

For a first contact it was quite unspectacular.

Due to her age and the fact that she had rarely communicated with anyone other than the sentries she had met, she had trouble understanding him at first. Her systems adjusted to the dialect after a while, though.

Beachcomber appeared strangely familiar to her, as if she had met him before, but his youth and his apparent lack of understanding as to what he was looking at and talking to begged to differ. He had never been below the surface, had never seen a mech like her. Their way of communication turned from verbal to something that was almost like small bursts over a comm line between them. Like scrambled messages only they understood. Conversation was finally easier than before.

And still, the familiarity never ceased.

Like the war didn’t cease either. The surface broke in places and Decepticons started to invade the levels below, looking for Autobots, looking for the Allspark. Seaspray felt distress at the destruction they caused. The network was overrun by alarms, but aside from her, no other sentry responded. And finally the Allspark was launched into space, plunging Cybertron into darkness and the fluid network into stagnation. Seaspray was shocked, almost unable to process the fact, and if it hadn’t been for Beachcomber who had dragged her nearly physically to safety, she would have fallen victim to a gigantic explosion. It turned out that one of the Decepticon ships had crashed into the suffering planet’s surface and ripped a gaping wound into the metal shell.

In the end she had to surface, literally. She left the fluid network forever, her streamlined form strangely ungangly on solid metal ground, and Beachcomber found them shelter. That it was with an Autobot was simple irony. They had had to choose and the Dececpticons would probably have killed them, so both chose the lesser evil: the Autobots. The one in question, the one who repaired the worst of their damages and took them with him in his antiquated ship, was called Wheeljack, an engineer and scientist, too.

Before the war. Now… now he was a warrior in addition to being a scientist.

The ship had made it to the planet called Earth, a planet where the signal from Optimus Prime had originated from. A planet filled with organics, with humans, as they called themselves. It had been because of Wheeljack’s skills that they had even made it this far. The ship had suffered a lot during the launch and flight from Cybertron, and Wheeljack had gunned to the max to keep them from harm; in turn he had harmed the engines.

Now they were here. And they were no longer alone.

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Beachcomber hadn’t felt good about leaving Wheeljack back at the ship, but he hadn’t really been looking forward to meeting Optimus Prime or any of the warriors. He wasn’t a soldier, he would never be a soldier, and he didn’t want to have anything to do with the war – or echoes of it on any other world. Wheeljack was different; he was more open-minded. While he had tried to stay uninvolved and only lightly favor one side, he had, in the end, been pulled to the Autobots. His genius had been of interest to both factions, but the Prime had won his loyalty.

Beachcomber had made a run for it and Seaspray had followed. For some unknown and unexplainable reason the sentry seemed to be very much attached to him. A being so much older, so much more powerful, of such high standing, followed a lowly, young scientist across alien and hostile landscape to the sea.

Seaspray hadn’t asked; she had simply followed. She had also answered Optimus Prime’s call and told him where they were going. Beachcomber didn’t feel betrayed or angry; he wasn’t a fugitive. But he also didn’t want to be involved.

Never again.

Prime had acknowledged their presence and someone was currently following them, relaying the request for a brief meeting. Beachcomber had no wish to talk, but Seaspray had agreed and so they were now waiting in some remote bay. Water lapped against the sharp-edged boulders, spraying onto their armor. Seaspray felt very much at home, moving through the water like it was the fluid-network of Cybertron. She seemed rather relaxed.

A signal came in and Beachcomber tensed. He watched two vehicles plough through the snow, a massive truck and a much sleeker silver sports car. The truck stopped and the door opened. Much to Beachcomber’s surprise a human slid out.

Seaspray froze, optics brightening, and she made a soft, humming noise.

::What is it?:: Beachcomber asked.

She gave no answer, just slid out of the water like a gigantic sea snake, staring at the human.

The two vehicles transformed and the silver one stepped forward.

“My name is Rodimus Prime,” he identified himself. “These are Ironhide and Will Lennox.”

Seaspray hummed again. She moved even closer, optics on the human introduced as Will Lennox, and Beachcomber saw Ironhide shift, bringing up his cannons slightly. There was a warning whine of charging weapons.

::Prime:: Seaspray whispered.

Beachcomber looked at her with a flare of surprise in his optics.

Prime?

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Will had never seen a mech like the one currently looking at him as if he was the most fascinating of bugs under a microscope. From Wheeljack’s brief explanations he knew this had to be Seaspray, but it was such an alien appearance, he had felt more than a little bit of apprehension.

Seaspray apparently had the same gender pronoun as Arcee, ‘she’, but she wasn’t a troubleshooter. Wheeljack had called her a sentry and from Ironhide’s reaction his partner knew at least a little bit what that meant. He hadn’t elaborated on it though. Seaspray looked like a mix between an alien sea serpent and someone’s horror fantasy about aquatic creatures. She had a long, strong looking, body that was covered in dark gray plating. It appeared as if someone had cobbled together a skeleton made of metal, all vertebrae and dorsal protrusions, then slapped plating onto the new form. The front section sported eight multi-segmented legs. Tentacle-like protrusions, mimicking legs, were at the end of her body as well. Around her head were longer spines. Chinese dragons had them, too, Will recalled faintly.

The optics were a milky opaque. No blue or red in them. They were guarded by heavy brows and bulged slightly to give her a better field of vision. The head as such was wedge-shaped, had no mouth, no nostrils, but on the front were numerous indentions that were probably sensor nodes.

She looked more alien than any of the mechs he had met ever since Qatar. And she would make a great Alien for any kind of movie sequel.

Beachcomber was almost non-descript next to the sentry. About Bumblebee’s size, dark blue and yellow in color, he appeared wary of them. Will had no information on him other than that he had been a scientist on Cybertron. He didn’t seem to be armed, but that was usually not always apparent at first glance.

“Prime,” Seaspray hummed, gazing at him, then she raised her head and met Rodimus’ optics. “I greet you.”

“Seaspray,” Rodimus replied, stepping forward, hands open to show he was unarmed. “Wheeljack told us you came with him. Optimus asked me to talk to you.”

“We’re not going to any military base,” Beachcomber spoke up, sounding defensive, almost aggressive.

Will frowned, but he kept his mouth shut.

“We’re not asking you to. We just wanted to talk.”

“That usually ends in a recruiting speech,” the smaller mech said, anger bleeding into his voice. “I heard them all. I either change to a side or end up off-lined. No thanks. We left Cybertron to leave the war behind us, not fight it somewhere else.”

Rodimus studied the other mech for a moment, then nodded. “We accept your decision, Beachcomber. Earth is a refuge for our people. We have to hide, but we can hide peacefully.”

“Until the Decepticons come and you start all of this once more?”

“Should Decepticons come and threaten this world, we’ll defend it. We won’t let them turn it into another Cybertron.”

“The Autobots weren’t all that innocent in the war either!”

Ironhide grunted angrily and stepped forward. “Now listen here, you little punk…”

Rodimus held out a hand without looking, touching Ironhide’s shoulder, and holding him back from stepping any further. Lennox was amazed at the strength in that gesture, the command. And Ironhide heeded it.

“No one is innocent in this war, Beachcomber,” the young Prime said calmly. “We all bear a burden of guilt and shame. What we do now is survive. We have found allies and friends and even more on this planet.” He nodded at Lennox. “You’re free to choose what to do, as long as you keep our presence hidden.”

Beachcomber glared, but Seaspray nodded, still looking at Will.

“We will stay within the fluid networks,” she said. “They were my home on Cybertron. This world is different, but the network is much the same.”

Rodimus smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”

“I never needed to choose a new form, but I will keep my presence hidden,” the sentry went on, sounding thoughtful, optics on the rough sea. “I do not need to surface. I respect the Dynasty, Prime. I will follow your suggestions.”

“You knew the Dynasty?” Lennox blurted.

She chuckled, optics flaring with amusement. “No. I am old, young Prime, but not that old. The last one disappeared before I was created. I have called Cybertron my home for longer than any of the others, but even I never knew it from the beginnings of time.”

The serpentine body curled a little and Seaspray lowered her head, meeting Will’s eyes with her opaque optics. Ironhide shifted uneasily.

“I concur with my companion’s sentiment that we will not be part of any fights. I will however accept your power of command.”

Lennox frowned. “Optimus Prime is the commander of the Autobots.”

“But you and him,” Seaspray glanced at Rodimus, “are part of that command structure, Prime.”

Will felt a slight pressure behind his eyes, like something was asking without words. He resisted briefly, then sighed.

“Avatar Prime,” he told her with a shrug.

Seaspray nodded her acceptance and raised her head once more.

Beachcomber had watched it all with an almost similar unease to Ironhide’s posture. He regarded Will warily, but he didn’t comment.

“Stay in touch,” Rodimus only said and Lennox had the distinct impression that a lot more was transmitted outside his realm of perception.

Seaspray glided into the water, still a huge serpent, and Beachcomber transformed into what looked like a Cybertronian version of a submarine. A very small one. Both would adapt to whatever they chose, whatever kept them anonymous.

“I got a bad feeling about this, letting them run around like that,” Ironhide rumbled.

“We can’t force anyone to go with us,” Rodimus replied calmly. “We can’t force them to swear loyalty to the Autobots. I believe the best we can hope for is that they remain neutral and won’t side with the Decepticons either.”

Ironhide growled softly. Will placed a calming hand on the massive leg, watching the runes frolic around the point of contact.

“I doubt it,” he simply said.

The other Prime nodded. “I’m just glad they survived.”

Both Autobots transformed and Ironhide waited for Will to get inside, then they drove back along the way they had come. Fresh snow was already covering the old tracks and it would take a few hours until they reached the pick-up point. Will stared out of the window, still replaying the brief meeting in his mind.

“Ever met a sentry, Hide?” he asked softly.

“No. Didn’t know they still existed. The underground of Cybertron was kinda… off limits and the stuff of urban legends and scary tales.”

“Yeah?”

It got him an amused snort. “To scare the young.”

“Still you never explored?”

“Personally, no. There were expeditions. Some failed spectacularly.”

Will nodded. “It’s like saying we have monsters in the depth of the Earth… the stuff of books and B-movies. In Earth’s case… it’s highly unlikely we’ll find anything because of the heat. Cybertron’s a metal world and something had to be taking care of the inner workings.”

Something big and more alien than the Cybertronians themselves were, the surface dwellers. Will would have loved to talk to Seaspray some more, about her world, the inner world of Cybertron, but he respected her wishes to remain neutral. Maybe one day they could sit down and talk anyway.

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Six months later Optimus Prime contacted both Seaspray and Beachcomber once more. A third launch pad for the space ships Ghost-2, Ghost-3 and Spook would be built on Jan Mayen, a volcanic island of Norwegian dominion, located in the North Atlantic ocean, 950 kilometers west of Norway, 600 kilometers north of Iceland.

It was uninhabited and there were no commercial flights going in or out. A crew of eighteen was running the Loran-C navigation station, the meteorological station and maintaining the infrastructure -- buildings, roads, airstrip, power station and so on. Dominated by an active volcano that had last erupted in 1985, Jan Mayen was perfect.

Beachcomber was wary to actively cooperate with anything remotely Autobot or connected to the war, but Seaspray’s enthusiasm to lend a hand overruled all his arguments. She would stay around the island, help the crew, be a sentry as much as she could be. Beachcomber grudgingly moved to Jan Mayen, but he kept out of everyone’s way. It was hard to ignore that Seaspray felt good and wanted this. The strange connection between them allowed a certain degree of empathy that went both ways.

Still, he fought it.

Every step of the way.

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Three months into the reconfiguration of the Jan Mayen station Beachcomber took on the guise of an ATV and sat silently near the vehicle shed, scanning the humans around him. Seaspray chided him for his uncooperative state, but she didn’t push him any further.

An additional three months later he allowed the humans to ‘drive’ him into the more inhospitable regions to refit installations there, or close to the sea to meet with Seaspray, who usually patrolled the area diligently.

He still refused to be called an Autobot, to wear any kind of sigil, report to anyone – unless it was Optimus Prime and even then only reluctantly – and be seen cooperating more openly.

Seaspray watched it all with a kind of amused tolerance that was even more pronounced when both were together throughout the harsh winter nights.

::While older is not wiser:: she told her partner, ::it helps to see matters in a more relaxed way::

Blue optics glared at her and she pushed her head against his chest with gentle force.

::They asked us, Beachcomber, not ordered us. I talked to Optimus Prime and he gave us the freedom of choice. He recognizes us as his kind, but far from the Autobot command structure. I want to help this planet.::

::It’s in your programming:: the other mech groused.

She pushed again, making him stumble. ::No. Neither is it in yours to be such a pain in the diodes::

He glared again. She hummed softly. One of her tendrils wrapped around his waist and pulled him against her smooth plating. Beachcomber sighed and ran caressing digits over the seams.

::I hated the war, the pain it brought, the destruction::

::We all did and do. I can feel their pain, but I can also feel their determination not to let it happen again. I lost Cybertron. I won’t lose another planet if I can help it. The Allspark is gone, but the Primes are here. There’s hope::

::Feeble hope::

The wind blew loudly around the hangar they were in and rattled against the walls. Beachcomber was momentarily distracted, then sank onto the ground with a rattling sigh.

::Hope runs eternal in the foolish. I’m no longer foolish::

::You never were. Just young. And you can always leave here::

::And leave you behind? No.::

::I can take care of myself. I’m the sentry of Jan Mayen base. It’s a duty I have only to myself. I take it seriously::

Beachcomber nodded. He knew she was serious about her duties; very serious.

::I know:: he finally said softly. ::I also know we do good here. The people of this planet don’t deserve to suffer for the mistakes of another race::

She nodded.

A vicious rattle made Seaspray look up, her optics narrowing. She scanned the area and found the building secure enough. Beachcomber transformed into his vehicular mode, dislodging the tendril of his partner briefly, then he was surrounded by thickly armored serpentine curls. He powered down, but he didn’t fall into recharge.

Seaspray was awake, listening to the forces of nature around them. She was happy in this place, surrounded by life instead of death, and she thrived in her duty as a sentry once more.

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The morning brought with it the pristine whiteness of fresh snow that covered everything. The base crew was already preparing to clear the landing strip and roads. Seaspray greeted Ole Madsen, the base commander, then slid off toward the shore. Snow crackled and crunched under her massive form and when she broke through the ice covering the bay, the waves closing over her like a blanket, she hummed with pleasure.

She kept transmitting to Beachcomber and he sighed heavily, maybe a bit theatrically. It was getting harder and harder to ignore Seaspray’s influence. She was chipping away at his armor with every day.

She knew it.

She kept doing it.

And Beachcomber knew he would fail miserably one day.

Now he drove to the outlook and transformed, watching the massive form of his partner break through the surface of the ocean like an alien whale. She had reconfigured her body just a little bit and the researchers had commented on her looking like a prehistoric sea snake.

Seaspray had been amused at the comparison.

She disappeared again underneath the waves, the water swirling in her wake.

Happiness radiate over their connection. Little eddies of joy remained.

No, Beachcomber had no chance to stay at the fringe, trying to push away those around him. But he would go down fighting.

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With the completion of the new base four weeks later, Beachcomber expected more Autobots or human crew to arrive, but nothing of the like happened.

“We are the crew, Beachcomber,” Seaspray told him as they sat together at a snow-covered beach, watching ice drift across the ocean’s surface.

“I’m not doing shifts and running operations!” the scientist immediately protested.

She gave him a little nudge. “No, we won’t. But you are a scientist and this is a fascinating planet. The ocean is vast, filled with life, and I want to explore it, just like the humans here do. This is our world now.”

He rumbled to himself.

Seaspray curled her larger body around him, humming softly. ::Why do you fight this still?::

::Cooperate now, end up an Autobot by default later::

::The Primes accepted us as neutrals. We aren’t the first either. I trust in their word.::

Beachcomber sighed. He liked this planet, too. It was… different and so alive. He liked the humans manning the research station.

::You already have a plan:: he only said, looking into the opaque optics hovering at his side.

::Of course. Swim with me?::

He didn’t hesitate. Following the sentry into the water Beachcomber held on to one of her back protrusions and was pulled underwater with Seaspray. As the waters closed over him, he simply enjoyed the feel of the smooth liquid of this planet.

 

fin


End file.
